


Who Would Be The Fool?

by shplottwist



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hurt Arthur Morgan, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Praise Kink, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23753866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shplottwist/pseuds/shplottwist
Summary: If there was one thing that Arthur was dead certain of, it wasn't that John loved him or even that he was valued within the gang. It was that the world would be better off if he were to just kill himself.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	Who Would Be The Fool?

**Author's Note:**

> I have never been more excited to post something in my life. This is my first fic to actually come to fruition since I was sixteen, some six or so years ago so I hope everyone enjoys!  
>    
> Obligatory title from the song Green Jewels by Kriill, just about the only thing I've listened to in the time I've been writing this.

John had decided on a whim that he wanted to be away from the camp for a few days. This in itself was not unusual so there should have been nothing to worry about, but Arthur couldn't help the buzz of nasty thoughts surrounding his head as he packed his bedroll onto his dapple black thoroughbred, Myfanwy. They rode out to somewhere in northern New Hanover, Arthur hadn’t paid attention to where but knew they hadn't passed the border, only stopping once it had long since gotten dark and John deemed a spot suitable. Arthur took his time to brush down both their horses while John fumbled with setting up a little camp. The silence seemed comfortable for John, but for Arthur it was turmoil. The second that they settled down at their little camp, Arthur knew John and him would have to talk. John would tell him how this wasn’t going to work out anymore or that he hated Arthur and wanted to be rid of him. What else could be the purpose of this trip? Every move the gang made was calculated. This would be no exception. Arthur angrily shook the thought as soon as it entered his head. John said he still loved him. John would always “still love him” and that was the problem.

He should have brought a better jacket. They were close to the mountains of Ambarino, somewhere above Valentine near Grizzlies West maybe, and the wind blowing over the Dakota river added another wet chill. He would never get used to the miserable humidity in these parts. Compared to the western states, everything this far east made him feel like he was breathing in water with every breath. Being north of camp only had the added benefit of the water feeling like slush. What he would give for the dryer heat of New Austin again. Despite the chill, Arthur didn’t join John by the fire, instead laying back, clasping his hands behind his head, and gazing distractedly into the stars. He almost startled as John laid down next to him in the grass. Arthur had been so lost in thought that he didn’t hear him approach. Their elbows bumped against each other as John settled himself close and, ever the octopus, John hooked his ankle over Arthur’s leg. The younger man had seemed to always need to be touching him. A selfish part of Arthur really enjoyed the constant bits of contact, but that was him wasn’t it, always being selfish. It made him feel almost wanted in the world though. Gave him that little bit of warmth in his chest that ached like a fresh wound and made everything all tight like he couldn’t breathe. But that wound wasn’t new. It was always there, getting constantly ripped open again and again as he found happiness and then had the feeling torn from his grasp. He wished he could get rid of his heart and become the cold killer everyone talked him up to be. He wished he could be ruthless all the time and never have to feel, well, anything.

John was so different from him. He loved the world and everything in it so openly with nothing to hide. Every sound from his lips was said with conviction, like he meant every word he said, even when they came out wrong. Oftentimes he ran out of vocabulary to describe the way he was feeling, but that wouldn't ever be enough to stop him. He turned his lack of words into action instead. He was passion, fire, temper, and kindness all wrapped up in one impossible man. The world was actively trying to tear him down but instead of taking Arthur’s classic approach of being a damned coward, he fought back with middle fingers pointed at the sky and a valient “fuck you!”. Sure that made him a prickly bastard, but Arthur adored him for it. No amount of sketching or bullshit poetic lines in his journal would capture him right. A picture of John would always be an echo of the real thing.

Arthur knew without a doubt that he didn’t deserve any love John gave. Half the time he didn’t even return the kindness given. He was all too ready to join in with the gang’s teasing him about being dumb or ugly with the scars. And for what? To fit in with the others? As an excuse to just be mean? Arthur was revered within the gang and should be a role model towards the others. If he said stop, he knew the others wouldn’t give him much flack for it. Instead, Arthur was a coward who couldn’t speak up to defend John- not that he needed defending. And here Arthur was again just assuming that John needed him around. It had to be the sex that stopped John from leaving. It wasn’t for his looks or personality. Arthur was just the only one who would roll over for an invert twig of a man like that- Arthur wanted to take back the words as soon as he thought them. Sometimes, Arthur couldn't believe the thoughts that came out of his own head. Arthur was the damned invert. John spent most nights in a tent next to Abigail while Arthur lay alone each night wondering why he could never be that way inclined in the end. Mary probably wondered that too if she spared him any thought. Arthur knew he was just something fun and different for John. Why else would he bother with Arthur? Arthur was stunted, even past being unable to say his feelings. He knew he was failing at showing them too. 

He felt like a black sludge of a person. It coated every inch of his skin, making him feel so heavy as it pulled him down. It dripped over his eyes, blinding him from everything good and filled his mouth and nose until he was choking on every breath. He couldn’t ask for help, couldn’t scream at the world or beg for forgiveness because every time he attempted to speak, the words came out garbled and the sludge splattered from his lips in thick droplets. Wherever it hit, it consumed, darkening and spreading, scorching the earth it oozed across with a gurgling, bubbling hiss. Any person who crossed his path became trapped in the trail of tar he left behind and was slowly consumed like the animals in the oil fields. It wasn’t until he left and they were able to wash themselves of him that they could be free. Even then, they bore his mark like a bitter brand. He ruined the ground he walked on and the people he pretended he gave meaningful love to. 

His love would never be real or meaningful like John’s. What was love from a shell of a person but a cheap replica of what it should be? He was snake oil to the world, sold under false pretenses that he would do some good. John, with all his passion and fire, tried so hard to teach him how to be genuine. He grabbed him by the face and dug at his eyes, trying to clear them of the sludge so he could see, but all that John was doing was letting the goo drip down his arms and coat him until he was ruined too. And Arthur was weak. He couldn’t cough out a plea for John to stop. He just let himself be selfish and relish in the touch. He let himself ruin John.

Arthur was thankful that John didn't seem to sense his inner turmoil. John seemed at peace pondering whatever was rattling in that brain of his. Half eaten by wolves and still doing better than Arthur ever would. Arthur didn't look over for fear of disturbing him… Any little disturbance might be the catalyst to John realizing what a burden associating with Arthur was and get to the chase with cutting off their relationship. Arthur was clinging to every moment of close proximity while it lasted. 

“Hey Arthur, if you could live anywhere, where would it be?” The question came out of nowhere. It was not what he was expecting to hear. 

“What are you talking about? Dutch has a plan. We are gonna get some money, finish up here, and then move west. I’m not leaving you guys to go hide off somewhere - where’d you get that idea?” His jaw clenched, shoulders squaring up like he was ready for a fight. The gang was his family, even if, in the back of his mind where he didn’t like to humor, he knew they all must hate him. No matter what he had a duty to be there and to protect them. “I’m not you. I ain’t gonna run off like that.“ Arthur was hardly mad about that anymore. He didn’t know why he couldn't stop bringing it up. Why wasn’t he saying I love you instead?

“Good God Arthur. Will you ever let that go? I’m jus’ thinkin’s all.” John was miffed, but there was no heat past mild irritation in his voice.

“You should do less of it. The smoke coming out your ears from trying so hard is makin’ the air smell bad.”

“Arthur you idiot. I’m askin’ where  _ you _ would want to go if you could. Just askin. What if there were no Dutch to make the rules and we could actually settle down?” John clarified. Arthur doesn’t see it, but he knew John well enough to practically feel him roll his eyes.

Arthur pondered the thought for a moment and gave a big sigh. He finally looked over at John, but the man was still staring up at the stars, a funny little look on his face. He couldn’t tear his eyes off him. John was often more interesting than the world around them.

“I just want to be with all of you. I don’t mind much where we end up. Dutch says we’re going west, so that’s where I’ll go,” Arthur offered. It was the honest truth, but clearly not the answer John was looking for.

“Arthur, even if we do manage to all go west… Which, I’m hopin’ we do, Arthur, I really am, but it’s not like we’re actually gonna settle down. You gotta know that, right? Maybe we will for a little bit… but someone's gonna get that itch to pick a fight and to Dutch, it’s always gonna be about the money. Could you imagine him actually settling down? He’s been talking about it all our lives, but hasn’t even made an honest attempt yet. We all know someone's gonna have some bank or rich asshole’s house catch their eye and get the law after us real fast. Then we're just gonna move again. And again. And again. Eventually we are gonna run outta west, Arthur.” John tore his eyes away from the stars and looked over at Arthur, holding his gaze steady. His eyes were intense in that way they always got when he was passionate about something. John took a deep, steadying breath.

‘I’m talkin’ ‘bout really, truly settlin’, Arthur. For good. You, me, Abigail and Jack, Hosea of course - hell maybe a few of the others who could handle themselves all right. Get a farm somewhere nice, I don’t care where! Get some sheep, maybe a donkey or two. You could have horses ‘cus I know you like them an' all. We could grow our own food and live off the land. Don’t gotta go into town but every once in a while for supplies. No one has to know who we are, and we don’t hav’te talk to nobody. You and me won’t have to hide anything…” He punctuated this by reaching over and grabbing Arthur's hand. He gave it a quick squeeze before letting go and folding it back loosely over his stomach. Arthur’s hand burned with the loss of touch. “We can all raise Jack into the great man he’s gonna be one day. We can take him outta this life. No more running, Arthur.”

Arthur held his gaze through his speech. He kept his features as schooled as he could while he took everything in. It sounded… amazing, running off like that. He just couldn’t imagine the gang all splitting up. If that were to happen, he would have failed as their protector. He would have failed the family he had been desperately trying to keep together ever since Dutch and Hosea had picked him up some twenty-odd years ago. He tore his gaze away with a frustrated noise, glaring up at the stars. He could feel the sludge creeping back up his neck, cascading over his chin and between his lips. The bitter taste filled his mouth like bile after a night of heavy drinking. It just sounded so nice. Arthur didn’t want to run forever. He would sell his soul to be able to wake up the next morning and have everyone settled into that cozy farmhouse John described, with not a worry in the world… Well, maybe not Micah, but he didn’t matter much anyways.

The problem was that John was right for once. They would never get that life the way things were going. Arthur knew how to be honest with himself. They were all going to end up dying in the same life they were trying to break away from. Dutch said he had all these plans, but… they weren’t making it out west. Arthur didn’t want to doubt him, he really didn’t. It was just another case of him being a sorry sack of shit who doubts at every turn. God. And here he was staring at the sky and wasting precious time he could be spending to help out the gang. He didn’t need to imagine the gang split up to be a failure. He already was one. A sorry excuse of a man who was a burden to everyone around him. John just didn’t realize how much better that would be for everyone when he stopped leading him on and left Arthur in the dust. 

“Arthur? You got that look about you. Stop hatin’ yourself for once.” John’s raspy voice cut through the angry thoughts swarming him. “Please.” It was added as a sad, exhausted afterthought. Arthur couldn’t turn to look at him. Didn’t want to see that sad look in his eyes. 

Arthur heard more than saw John rustle in his pocket for a rumpled packet of those cheap cigarettes he liked. The sound of the match striking was too loud against the quiet of the night. John took a deep inhale, blowing smoke upwards from the corner of his mouth. He reached over towards Arthur with the cigarette dangling between two fingers like it an apology for even bringing up what was on his mind. John wasn’t looking at him neither. He was probably upset with him. Arthur grabbed the cigarette and took a long drag, blowing the smoke to mingle above their heads with John’s. 

“The mountains.”

“What?”

“If it were up to me, I’d live in the mountains. Somewhere up in the Grizzlies where the hunting was good. I’d go live in the mountains, John, as long as you came with me.” It was his own apology and as much of a declaration of love as he could offer. Everything else would be meaningless. 

John mulled over it for a moment with a thoughtful hum, but ultimately didn’t continue the conversation further. He had gotten his answer. Arthur wasn't sure if it was the correct one. The air was heavy now that they had stopped talking. Arthur silently begged the universe for any sort of distraction from it. If only a random elk would gore him out of his misery instead of leaving him next to an eerily thoughtful John. He shivered against a breeze, scooting closer to John for his warmth. John always ran hot, probably what saved him after getting attacked in the mountains. 

“I’m cold too, Arthur. I set up a tent, let's go lay in that instead of ignoring it, huh?” John was trying to give him an out. Arthur’s pride wasn’t going to take it.

“Yeah, I guess that is an idea. Don’t want you to catch a cold now do we?” Arthur teased.

“Oh shut up Arthur. I can feel you shivering. Why you only brought  _ that _ jacket I will never know. Do you not listen when I speak? I said we were going above Cumberland Forest. Did you forget how cold it is up here? It’s you who’s gonna get sick and then mope and whine around camp for a week like you was the next Uncle.”

“Oh now that’s too far!” Arthur gave him a very brief side eye, lips curling in a mischievous grin before launching to get on top of and pin him to the ground. It was just the thing to do between them. They would be serious and then fight to get rid of the femininity of being vulnerable. John was ready for the attack and flipped them right back over with a playful shriek. They tussled for a moment before Arthur let John win, the younger man’s weight comfortably heavy where it straddled over him. John had a tight grip of his wrists where he had pinned them above Arthur’s head. John adjusted to hold his wrists firm with one hand while the other dragged painfully slow down the length of Arthur's arms to cup at his face. Arthur didn't try to hide the shivers from such a light touch. It was no longer the cold that was affecting him. John’s hair hung down as a frame around Arthur’s face as they panted into each other's space. It blocked the world around them and made it so he could only focus on the man above him and those treacherous eyes pretending to be full of love. Arthur eagerly accepted the kiss that came as a consolation prize for acquiescing, if only to stop looking at him, but the kiss was far too short, John let up in favor of helping him to his feet and leading the way to the tent. Despite all the lead up, the younger man didn’t make any further attempt at getting into Arthur’s pants one last time before leaving him for good. It made sense. If John had been so grotesque lookin' like Arthur, Arthur wouldn’t want to sleep with him either. He just wished John would stop the act and just get over with ending it. 

John cuddled up against Arthur's side and fell quickly to sleep without a further word’s goodnight. Arthur had always been jealous of John's ability to drift off so easily. He already knew he wasn't going to sleep at all. Instead he would be selfish and study every little bit of John. Each breath would be cemented into memory so that he could call back on the moments he was actually happy when John finally ripped off the bandage. It hurt so badly to be led on like this, but in a way he was thankful. It gave him more time.

John didn’t call off their relationship the next morning. Or the day after on their way back to Clemen’s Point, game packed secure on their horses for the ride. Arthur knew it was coming eventually.

Pearson was excited for a delivery of that much meat. John had stuck around to preen under the positive attention while Arthur slunk off to hide in his tent. He didn’t want thanks for anything he did. John could take all the credit for hunting. He just wanted to be a miserable bastard alone with his journal. 

_ “Nothing I do will ever be enough to right where I have done wrong. I don't understand why no one sees that. As soon as everyone realizes what scourge I am to the world, they will leave. John will be the first. He’s the most observant of the lot. Maybe not this trip, but surely the next. It’ll be better for him.”  _ Arthur tucked his pencil inside as he closed the book and tossed it onto the rickety table next to him. It landed with a disatifying thud. He lay back on the cot, suddenly exhausted. There were so many better things he could be doing with his time to help the gang out, but the urge to just lay back and wallow in his own misery was too strong. 

He should just kill himself. It would be best for everyone. 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful betas @kittleimp and @artiowritestrash for helping to turn this three am fever dream rambling into something readable!
> 
> Huge shout out to @FukaiFox for letting me ramble and foam at the mouth talking about Red Dead... a fandom they are not even in. 
> 
> Go check out these awesome creators!


End file.
